


Kwon Jiyong's Kitchen Nightmares

by babyrubysoho



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon, Cooking, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Seunghyun wants to play sub, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: When fledgling idol Jiyong agrees to take part in the celebrity version of cooking contest‘Hell’s Kitchen’he has no idea how literal that might turn out to be. But with temperamental head chef Choi Seunghyun ready and willing to axe the first contestant who puts a spatula wrong, Jiyong had better be prepared to eat some humble pie – before Seunghyun feeds it to him.
Relationships: Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Comments: 27
Kudos: 55





	Kwon Jiyong's Kitchen Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> I went on a bit of a _Great British Bake Off_ binge a little while ago. Started to have erotic thoughts of Paul Hollywood so had to quickly displace them onto GTOP - and here you have the result XD

It was the first time Jiyong had ever set foot in a kitchen with the intention of cooking something in it. That was fine, it was high time he learned – but he’d not envisioned his maiden efforts being filmed for an audience of millions. It’d taken a lot for his manager to convince him it would be great publicity to appear on season two of ‘ _Hell’s Kitchen Korea: Celebrity Edition_ ’: it’ll get your face on _prime time_ , Jiyong; it’ll open you up to a whole new audience, Jiyong; an idol has to do more than write smash hits, Jiyong! God, he hoped it was worth it.

“I’ll be fine, won’t I?” he told the camera with a breezy public smile, patting gently at his face with the back of his hand; it was hot in the beautiful restaurant under the TV lights and they hadn’t even started yet. “They’re not gonna ask us to do anything complicated...are they?” Behind the cameraman he could see a producer cracking a vaguely sadistic smile. Jiyong bit his lip in the consciously cute way he had. Hell, if he turned out to be lousy with a whisk he could get through the broadcast on charm like he always did. Right?

“Okay, GD?” inquired Jaesuk, bustling up and giving him a paternal pat on the back before adjusting the mic clipped to the younger man’s collar. He looked like he was having a _great_ time, but then he always did. “Ready for the storm?”

“Sorry?” Jiyong was antsy enough being around these veteran entertainers without them asking him cryptic stuff like that, however much Jaesuk intended to put him at his ease. “Sorry,” he repeated, “I’m just kinda nervous – I’ve never done any TV that wasn’t a music show.”

“Ah,” said the variety star, eyes crinkling up behind his glasses. “You haven’t heard, eh?” Jiyong gave him an apprehensive look and the older man grinned at him with some sympathy. “I was chatting with the PD earlier and he says this chef is a _handful_. It’s a different restaurant from last season, so…” Jiyong blanched. “Can you cook?” asked Jaesuk, possibly kindly.

“No! My manager told me it doesn’t matter, he said it’d make for better TV!” Goddammit, as if he wasn’t anxious enough being here all by himself; not for the first time he wished Youngbae had come instead – he knew his way around an oven.

“Normally, yeah.” Jaesuk gave him a humorous grimace. “But they told me about last week’s filming, and...well, we’d all better brace ourselves!” He aimed another friendly slap at Jiyong’s shoulder. “We’re in it together,” he told the increasingly dismayed young idol. “Right?”

“...Right,” said Jiyong faintly, and pulled himself together as his makeup artist dragged him off. After all, how bad could it be?

Jiyong was feeling nervy but more or less okay: they’d been introduced to the under-chefs they were shadowing, been shown the giant gleaming kitchen and had the filming process explained. Now here he was in his white uniform, neat as a pin; he liked it. It suited him, but then most things did. They were shooting already and he was doing a short piece to camera with an older movie actress about their current state of mind, about who might win the chef’s star and who was gonna tank. Jiyong knew he wouldn’t win and said so with good humour; one of the sous chefs smiled at him indulgently. So, that was how he’d play it: cheeky but humble. It’d always worked for him in the past, and even if his cookery sucked he’d still –

A chime sounded as he spoke: six o’clock. Before Jiyong could finish his sentence with a jaunty ‘Fighting!’, a deep voice yelled out across the kitchen:

“ _Service_!” And everyone in the place but the clueless contestants sprang into action. Jiyong, slightly shaken by the volume, peeped over the cameraman’s shoulder and spotted him, the culinary prodigy for whose approval they were all competing: head chef Choi Seunghyun. In that brief second Jiyong saw he was tall, taller than he’d thought – everything he’d expected and more. He’d seen the man before, of course, in magazines and TV spots; he was almost a celebrity in his own right – a genius with a three-star Michelin restaurant at only twenty-four or five – and so Jiyong had been prepared for good looks, but _this_ : Choi was handsome enough to be an idol actor or a model. His perfectly balanced features smouldered dark and strong where Jiyong’s were fine and delicate, his shoulders broad and his voice an attractive baritone that must make the ladies’ knees weak. It was enough to give the younger man a sharp twinge of envy, followed by one second of fervent hope that he could win Choi’s approval and maybe get to talk to him; but no more than that because two under-chefs immediately grabbed him and propelled him away from the imposing figure and over to his station, where he’d be starting on the fish courses. Jiyong swallowed, rolled up his sleeves, and prayed.

He might have lost sight of Choi but you sure couldn’t ignore him, thought Jiyong fifteen minutes in. He had sweat on his brow already and he’d only been chopping vegetables; the kitchen was manic, what with the packed-out restaurant on one side and the TV crew on the other, and his state wasn’t helped any by the frequent bark of that deep voice from across the room. The professional cooks were brisk and kind, correcting his constant mistakes as best they could; but every time Jiyong overheard one of those loud snaps of criticism directed by the head chef at the other celebrities – and Choi wasn’t holding back ‘cos they were famous, oh, no – he felt himself physically jump. He’d cut his finger already, had it wrapped in a blue band-aid by an assistant producer, and now he knew his station was behind; there was no time for being charming, no space for TV-friendly banter. The one thing he could be thankful for was that the gorgeous son of a bitch hadn’t said a word to him, had barely glanced over at the fish station.

“Breathe,” said the fish chef in an attempt to buck him up. “While you’ve got time. Twenty minutes and you switch to the starter station; the plating’s gotta be pretty so he’ll keep his eye on you there.” Jiyong nodded, not glancing up from his french beans; he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Then meat, you’ll be okay there. You’ll be on the dessert station last – he’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks, sweets are his babies. But don’t wor-”

“ _Trout_!!” came Choi’s outraged yell in their direction, cutting her off.

“Coming, Chef!” she called hurriedly. “What I was _going_ to say,” she told the camera as she dashed off to plate up, “was that his bark’s worse than his bite.” Jiyong groaned to himself and carried on chopping.

“ _Unacceptable_!” was Choi’s first ever word to Jiyong, delivered at full volume as the younger man was arranging a delicious starter of lobster tail and cauliflower in the middle of three vast plates. Jiyong gave a whole-body flinch and dropped a floret. “A _nest_ ,” barked Choi over Jiyong’s shoulder, pointing a disgusted finger at his efforts. “Not a compost heap!” He elbowed the twitchy idol aside and with a few simple touches rearranged the food into something magical. It was _effortless_ , thought Jiyong with deep admiration.

“Sorry, Chef,” he murmured, but Choi wasn’t even looking at him.

“Watch this one, Mina!” the bigger man ordered a sous chef as he turned the accusing finger on Jiyong. He strode off, ignoring the cameras and the trembling boy he’d left in his wake; Jiyong saw him turn his temper on Jaesuk for a moment, saw the entertainer laugh it off with an exaggerated wipe of his brow. What a very angry man, thought Jiyong, wincing to himself – and a _terrifying_ one. He wasn’t sure if even that perfect face could make up for his temper; whose bright idea had it been to put him on television?!

“Come on,” said Mina quickly, drawing his attention back to where it belonged. “I’ll show you again.”

By the time he switched to the dessert station Jiyong could hardly talk to camera; his heart was racing with panic, his head throbbing with the pace and stress of it all, and he could think of very little to say besides ‘I’ll do my best!’ He could see the other contestants handling their midpoint interviews with smiles and jokes; he knew they were up against it as well, all of them had gotten yelled at multiple times – only Jaesuk had somehow managed to do a decent job, though perhaps that was just ‘cos he presented less of a tempting target. For himself, Jiyong shut his eyes and silently tried to be invisible every time Choi passed, his tall figure all brusque commands and flashing eyes as he directed every corner of the kitchen in a flurry of wrathful artistry. And now it was desserts – and Jiyong was in for it all right.

There was Opera cake, which thank God had been made already and only needed plating with decorations and coulis – whatever the hell _that_ was. Then a rustic but decadent cherry crumble, Choi’s signature fruit apparently; and the third option, chocolate and Valencia orange soufflé. Jiyong gulped at the prospect of all three. If only he was on the other side of those kitchen doors! He’d scoff the lot and call Choi a marvel. As it was… Well, as it was, he was in Hell.

“Bin it!” he heard Choi growl again and again after one look at his preparations. And then: “Take him off plating!” The chef stalked away, though not before Jiyong caught him swearing under his breath about ever agreeing to host this show; he snarled at one of the cameras in his path and the crew practically leapt backwards. Jiyong sniffed, took a shuddery breath, and was sent to whip cream.

“What the hell do you call this?” said a scandalized voice in his ear some time later. Jiyong felt his hands start to shake as Choi appeared in his eye-line. The taller man slapped the Stop button on the mixer and gestured to the cream with utter horror, as if Jiyong had spat in it. Jiyong tried to tell himself he was trembling with anger: at being treated like this, at being told he was no good. He’d worked all his short life to get where he was! What right did this psychotic asshole have to bawl him out for something he’d never even attempted before? Just because Choi was a famous handsome brilliant virtuoso! That didn’t give him license to use those huge piercing eyes and imposing body and sexy voice to… Oh, fuck it. Jiyong wasn’t angry, who was he kidding? He was all muddled up, and most of all he was _scared_.

“They said to-” he began in an embarrassingly tremulous tone.

“It’s goddamn _butter_ by now,” said Choi venomously. “Don’t you know when to stop?!”

“No, I...”

“ _Christ_.” Out of the corner of his eye Jiyong caught two producers gesturing at each other, apparently concerned as to whether Choi was winding up to some censor-worthy language. But the bigger man didn’t need to curse – his mere proximity was enough to make Jiyong want to huddle up in a ball and vanish. “...Where the hell can I _put_ you?” continued Choi, mostly to himself but loud enough for his target to hear and be hurt. “You can’t do _anything_.” One of the patissiers edged towards them.

“Chef, we could-”

“No,” announced Choi decisively. For an instant he met Jiyong’s eyes before the boy dropped his gaze, petrified. “Washing-up!” the older man proclaimed; his high cheekbones were flushed and furious. That got Jiyong some sympathetic looks. “In my restaurant perfection is _everything_ ,” Choi reminded them, volume rising. His finger jabbed into Jiyong’s solar plexus. “And _you are out_!” Problem solved, he whirled away and descended on another hapless celebrity like an avenging angel.

The cameras followed Jiyong away from the food stations. Of course they did, this was a whole different kind of must-see TV. They filmed him pulling on the humiliating rubber gloves. The interviewer asked him some questions: how he felt, did he think Choi was justified? To his shame Jiyong could say nothing: it was stay silent or burst into tears. And they filmed that too.

By the time the dinner service was over he _was_ crying, silent angry tears of frustration into his washing-up bowl; but he bit his lip and kept quiet. Screw cuisine, anyway! he told himself as he stacked the clean pots and pans with a series of resentful clangs while the rest of the cast tidied their workstations and laughed with the professionals. Jaesuk came to check on him in his fatherly way and tried to cheer him up a little bit. Jiyong was polite ‘cos that was what he’d been taught, but the comedian must have seen he was too upset to be grateful and tactfully withdrew. Jiyong whammed a saucepan on top of the pile with a scowl, then cringed back as Choi’s tall silhouette passed the doorway, in the same instinctual way a chick shrinks from a bird of prey. Dammit, he couldn’t find the proper resentment yet: he was still too scared of the man.

At last, at long last it was finished! The star cook was crowned by a scowling Choi from among the four contestants – the older actress, who’d handled his attentions with calm aplomb – and the cameras were finally switched off. Jiyong suspected they’d been looking for him to do one post-game interview. He knew his manager was trying to find him. But he didn’t want to see _anyone_ right now, let alone anyone in a position to broadcast his state to the entire KBS viewership; he knew he must look like shit, and that was _not_ the G-Dragon brand he was trying to develop. Jiyong quietly apologized to the under-chefs who’d been unfortunate enough to work with him, then turned and hurried through the now-closed restaurant, its upscale front of house so serene and elegant compared to the chaos out back; he wished he could present the same cool exterior, but any minute now he was going to... He ducked into a deserted corridor, slumped back against the wall, and wept with relief that it was over.

* * *

Seunghyun took a huge, calming breath and exhaled, thanking God that this fiasco was wrapped up for another week. He wished he’d never agreed to take over as the hosting restaurant for the damn show; it wasn’t worth it for the publicity! The stress he felt at having those _people_ bumbling hamfisted around his beautiful kitchen…

He turned a corner, his usual sensible self again now the cameras were off him, and stopped. Stared, and stared some more, as his brain registered what he was seeing and came to knock on his skull to give him a good telling-off. There in the corridor was a small blonde youth, evidently in quite a state of upset, and Seunghyun didn’t need his considerable intelligence to realize whose fault _that_ was likely to be. And furthermore…

“Hey,” he said gruffly. The boy looked up. Pretty, pretty thing! Seunghyun thought without meaning to. He swore lightly at himself as the youngest – and most wildly incompetent – celebrity trainee cast a dark liquid glance at him after literally jumping at the sound of his voice. _Wonderful_ , he’d really done it this time: the kid was scared shitless, and at the same time was about the _cutest_ ball of nerves Seunghyun had ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t noticed, not ‘til right now.

“There’s no need to cry,” he assured the younger man softly – he’d yelled too much tonight to raise his voice now in any case, it was usually gone a whole day after one of these goddamn amateur sessions. Then, approaching cautiously: “Sorry if I upset you. I’m guessing I did.” Ugh, this was awkward.

“...‘S okay,” said the boy with a covert sniff, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “I...I cry at the drop of a hat!” Still, he flinched and looked horrified as Seunghyun took a step closer. Crap.

“I didn’t mean to shout.” Seunghyun leaned against the wall beside him, non-threatening. “Once service starts I don’t even know who I’m talking to. Everything’s a bit of a blur.” It was true, too: when he was in the zone he was...someplace else, elevated above petty things like common politeness and hurt feelings – a place where only beauty mattered. His staff were all used to it now, they knew he didn’t mean it and they’d come to care for nothing but the same two things he demanded: perfect flavour, perfect presentation. The rest was just...irrelevant. So when he’d run his eye over the latest batch of contestants for this bloody TV show he’d filed the kid under ‘another forgettable idol’; and during the filming itself the boy had been simply one more inefficient pair of hands – rather more infuriating than most, perhaps, but it was nothing personal.

“Don’t worry,” said the idol quietly. A pair of _baby_ hands, Seunghyun reminded himself sharply, looking at them: small, slender fingers twisting nervously together, smooth and unmarred by the burns and scars the older man had accumulated by the time he was twenty and setting the gourmet world ablaze – just one blue square of sticking plaster as testament to his first kitchen adventure. No experience at all, probably never so much as boiled an egg. What had Seunghyun expected?

“...You weren’t as bad as all that,” he lied; it felt genuinely shitty to see the results of his own insensitivity written all over those fine little features. The boy sniffed again and sighed.

“Oh...I know I was. You don’t need to sugar-coat stuff for me; nobody else does.” The bigger man logged that away for the moment and moved on to something more pressing.

“What was your name again?” Another embarrassment: Seunghyun was useless, faces in his kitchen were just faces until they’d proved they could at least perfect every kind of pastry. No hope for that with this kid – but now he really _oughta_ know, if only to apologize properly.

“Kwon Jiyong,” the boy informed him in that breathy, still-unsteady voice. Oh, it was attractive, and so was plenty else now Seunghyun had the leisure to look.

“Jiyong...” He gave the miniature celebrity a – hopefully – reassuring smile. “C’mon, I want to say sorry.” A blink of those almond eyes, so sweet, like some kind of startled Bambi. “Let me make it up to you,” Seunghyun suggested. “It’s hardly gonna do me much good if your memories of my restaurant are...well, like _this_.”

“How?” asked Jiyong, suspicious, still shrinking away gently like spun sugar in a hot room. Seunghyun set one careful hand on his shoulder – good lord, the kid had made a mess of his chef’s tunic! Now he looked back on it his lack of skill was just...funny. Something that’d make good TV. Not something to go ape about, anyhow. Seunghyun felt ashamed of himself, along with some brief selfish doubt about the state of his ratings after this episode aired. Jiyong had quit backing off and stood there quivering gently under his touch. That wasn’t very flattering, but Seunghyun figured he deserved it.

“The crew’s packing up,” he told Jiyong, more charmed with every second. “And my staff are headed home. You hungry? I’m always peckish around now.” He never had time to eat during the dinner service.

“...Maybe?” ventured Jiyong, in a tone that suggested he wouldn’t be surprised if Seunghyun was planning to poison him.

“So why don’t you hang around? I’ll cook for you; I’ll _show_ you I’m sorry.” The smaller man looked petrified at the thought of being anywhere near a kitchen with him again.

“I couldn’t put you to the trouble,” Jiyong said quickly, far more courteous than Seunghyun had ever been to him. These idols all had manners hammered into them from the minute their parents stuck them in an agency, the chef surmised.

“I was gonna make something for myself anyway; it’s easier to cook for two.” Seunghyun nudged him jovially. “I might even give you a few tips!” Jiyong went, if anything, even paler. “I promise,” Seunghyun assured him, and granted him a rare real smile; “it’ll be delicious. And I won’t shout once.” Another sidelong flash of those dark-chocolate eyes.

“Alright,” murmured Jiyong, and bit his lip in a way that, for one instant, tore Seunghyun’s imagination far away from ingredients and apologies.

“Great!” he said, and slapped the boy on the back. “I’ll talk to your manager.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly Jiyong was rather loath at first to assist Seunghyun in the preparation of the meal; the memory of such a ferocious taskmaster was clearly still fresh and stinging. But now he didn’t have the reputation of his beloved restaurant riding on it Seunghyun could act like a rational human: he instructed the younger man patiently, only giving him such small tasks as would make him feel like he was helping but not tax his nonexistent skills. Jiyong did what he could, hands still shaking slightly, and after that was very glad to be allowed to perch on a stool out of the way and watch. Seunghyun passed him different spices and herbs, let him smell them and explained what they were good for. When out of sight of the damn cameras he liked to be able to teach, so long as he had an appreciative audience. All right, Jiyong’s attention might be more down to petrified politeness than a real desire to be Seunghyun’s pupil; still, with enough good food and gentleness it might turn out a decent apology after all.

Seunghyun cooked something impressive but relatively simple so Jiyong could follow it; he didn’t want to intimidate the kid, not now – he already had a serious repair job to do on his confidence. He found he wanted Jiyong to like him, and wondered why it mattered so much. It seemed, as the cookery went on, that this dinner was to be about more than contrition; he hadn’t started out with ulterior motives when he’d extended the invitation, but there it was. Sure, the boy was cute as a button, but so were a lot of guys; he’d just never been drawn to one this quickly before. He really hoped first impressions weren’t everything, and determined the second would be far more palatable to Jiyong.

So, a delicious main course, not too heavy to eat at 10p.m. but special enough that it would hint at how much he wanted to please Jiyong. Seunghyun supposed it was a wooing dish: duck in pomegranate and walnut sauce, served over pistachio and orange basmati rice with charred broccoli. A nice Middle Eastern kick Jiyong probably wouldn’t have tried before, and the pomegranates...Seunghyun adored them. He broke one open with his hands, showed the obediently watching Jiyong how its ripe flesh and seeds shone like rubies.

“Persephone,” he lectured Jiyong as he added the fruit to the other ingredients to make his reduction. The boy looked puzzled. “She was the daughter of Demeter,” Seunghyun explained, passing him a piece of pomegranate to examine. “Greek myth, you know? She was abducted by the god of the underworld. Obviously this didn’t sit well with her, or her mom, and eventually Hades was forced to let her go. But while she was down there she ate some of his food – pomegranate seeds – so for a few months every year she has to go back to him. And that’s what brings on the winter.” Seunghyun was relieved when he looked up to see that Jiyong seemed interested in his rambling; he loved food myths.

“So ‘cos she ate this,” said Jiyong in his pretty voice, still tentative but no longer terrified, “she wound up staying in Hell.” He flicked a meaningful glance around the kitchen. Seunghyun flushed; he supposed the ‘ _Hell’s Kitchen_ ’ mantle _had_ proved a touch too literal for the younger man. Thanks to him.

“For a while, anyway.”

“Wow.” Jiyong considered the pomegranate, then surprised Seunghyun by raising it to his lips and taking a bite. He lowered the fruit and gave him a very small smile. “Maybe she didn’t hate Hades _so_ bad after all.” Seunghyun managed not to be offended at being cast as the lord of the underworld, because wasn’t this a peace offering? All he knew was that Jiyong was still smiling, and it was beautiful.

“I’d like to think so,” he replied, and went back to his cooking with that smile warming him all over.

They gradually got to chatting as he completed the meal; well, _he_ talked, with all the confidence of being in his own domain and all the delicacy of wanting Jiyong to forgive him. He thought maybe it was working when he saw Jiyong begin to fiddle with his hair, coaxing the strands of platinum back into sculpted neatness as if he wanted to look good enough to match the food. Then again, thought Seunghyun, Jiyong might just be vain – who wouldn’t be, looking like that? But Jiyong was smiling at him, more sincere and less anxious each time, and was straightening his shirt collar and cuffs like he cared what Seunghyun thought of his appearance. At least Seunghyun hoped that was what it meant, because he was finding himself more desirous of impressing this magnificent young man with every minute; he just prayed dinner would prove as appetizing as Jiyong.

Seunghyun served him in the restaurant itself: candles, artistic floral arrangement, the works. Jiyong looked quite impressed – perhaps it was the first time he’d been on this upmarket a date. Oh, God, this wasn’t a _date_ , Seunghyun reminded himself; that was wishful thinking alright. Still, it was dressed up near enough as made no difference, and if Jiyong was inclined to feel more kindly towards him he might even take the hint.

“Whoa,” said Jiyong after his first mouthful. He closed his eyes in bliss. “This is, like, _ridiculous_.”

“You like it,” surmised Seunghyun warmly. Jiyong’s inelegant words were sweeter to him than any review a critic had ever given him. The boy touched the tines of his fork to the tip of his tongue, savouring the subtlety of the flavours.

“I love it! You’re a genius. I mean, I knew that already, I just...”

“You just wish I wasn’t an asshole too.” Jiyong coloured and took another mouthful to stop himself having to answer. “I really am sorry,” Seunghyun assured him, wanting to touch him in some way and not daring. “You don’t have to forgive me; but it’d make me happy if you did.” Jiyong’s eyes met his own for a fraction of a second before he returned his gaze to his plate. Still, it was enough to give Seunghyun hope and an unaccustomed flutter of delight in his chest. Unable to repress a smile, he reached for the ice bucket and extracted the chilled wine; in his opinion it was hardly possible to be romantic without it.

“...You _are_ nineteen, right?” he said, pausing as he uncorked the bottle. Jiyong gave him a shy grin.

“Just!”

“Okay.” Seunghyun poured, knowing the boy wouldn’t have the palette to appreciate it yet but wanting to spoil him anyway. Nineteen...hmm. Seunghyun watched Jiyong stick his elegant nose in the glass like he’d probably seen them do on TV, and considered. He’d always been attracted to petite men, sure, but never anyone quite as young as this. He found it exciting – so many pleasures to introduce him to! – and ever so slightly worrying. What common ground could he find with a teenager? What right did he have to even _touch_ him? He knew the nonsensical standards to which idols were held, especially at that age: no real girlfriend, not for another decade, most likely. And a male lover? Unthinkable. Seunghyun blinked and allowed himself a rueful chuckle; talk about getting ahead of yourself!

“Nice?” he asked instead. Jiyong nodded, blinking; he’d drunk it too fast.

“Normally you’d have red with this kind of dish,” Seunghyun explained. “But a robust white can be just as good – and you won’t have a headache in the morning. Now eat; you want it while it’s at the perfect temperature.”

“Oh, man!” Jiyong beamed at him. “Even the bits _I_ did taste good!”

“See?” said Seunghyun, “you _can_ do it.” He reached out and with great daring gave the boy’s hand an encouraging pat. Jiyong looked up from his plate at that, flicked one glance at him through his eyelashes, and the older man abruptly caught his breath. He withdrew his hand and picked up his knife again; his fingers were unsteady. Christ, this kid was something else!

Seunghyun found himself ignoring his own good advice: his dinner grew cold, barely touched – a world first for him. But how could he help it, with Jiyong enthusiastic and exquisite in front of him, devouring the dishes he’d made with a gusto that was positively erotic. He had a brief flashback to a dinner scene in that old movie – _Tom Jones_ , he thought it was, his grandma liked period stuff like that; it’d been a revelation to his hormonal teenage self: the idea that food could be _sexy_. And here was the living proof in front of him. It would be even hotter, Seunghyun told himself as he watched Jiyong unpardonably lick his knife clean of _jus_ , if he could pick his jaw off the floor long enough to join in. He was just about equal to having a normal conversation, thank God, even if he couldn’t eat. Jiyong told him about the harsh training to which he’d been subjected since he was thirteen, and how it had become a habit; how he wished he could let himself relax more. Seunghyun felt some empathy there: he imposed such demands on himself in the service of his own career that he could both respect and pity Jiyong for doing the same – though anyone could see the boy still adored the attention, the praise and publicity, while Seunghyun had had his fill enough these days to merely take it in stride.

Jiyong was finished before Seunghyun had half cleared his plate; he was too much of a distraction.

“Dessert,” Seunghyun announced, giving up. Jiyong had digested for ten minutes and been served another glass of a lighter wine, and was now in the perfect state to appreciate sweets. Seunghyun hurried off to the kitchen, where he fanned himself for a bit before rummaging in the patisserie fridge. He knew he had some left over from yesterday, he’d been experimenting, and if his chief patissier hadn’t pinched it… Ah-hah.

“Ooh,” said Jiyong as the older man set it down with some ceremony. “Looks delish!” His voice had taken on a slight tipsy hint that warmed it like liqueur through cream. Seunghyun gave him a proud smile.

“It’s a Misérable cake,” he explained. “A Belgian glacée, only I’ve fancied it up a bit.”

“It sure _is_ fancy,” agreed Jiyong, looking carefully at his slice with its many perfect pastel layers.

“Vanilla and pistachio joconde and cherry French buttercream, tempered white chocolate decorations,” said Seunghyun, warming to his theme at Jiyong’s look of admiration. “It couldn’t hurt to fatten you up a bit.”

“I know,” admitted Jiyong ruefully, still observing the dessert from all angles. “I’m puny.” Seunghyun refrained from saying not puny, _perfect_ – and a few more curves would only enhance that. The smaller man picked up his spoon. “I almost don’t wanna spoil it; it’s so pretty.” Seunghyun took a deep breath.

“Then it’s the perfect dessert for you.” A slow smile spread across Jiyong’s face, an expression of pure pleasure and gratified vanity. So he _did_ know he was cute; that was nice, Seunghyun liked a good healthy self-esteem and was relieved to find he hadn’t dented it _too_ much with his awful behaviour earlier. He gestured with his own spoon and Jiyong finally took a bite, neat white teeth gleaming for a second before his lips closed on the mouthful.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” murmured Jiyong, and Seunghyun, unassailable in his own kitchen as he was, blushed to the roots of his hair: the combination of appreciation and absent seduction in the sound was as piquant as the cake itself. He took a distracted mouthful, congratulated himself momentarily on knocking it out of the park yet again, then fumbled his spoon as Jiyong tidied a fleck of buttercream from his upper lip with one willowy finger; his pink tongue flicked out to catch it, and Seunghyun’s spoon hit his plate with a clatter. “Goddamn,” stated Jiyong in approval, “this is _amazing_.” Seunghyun wanted to kiss the tips of his fingers, take them into his mouth and suck them. He was beginning to feel giddy; he took a quick sip of wine, cool and crisp.

“You could do it,” he managed thickly. “If you practiced enough.”

“Mmm.” Jiyong scraped up the final spoonful with a look of regret. “Why bother when there’s a guy like you around?” He picked up the lone chocolate-glazed cherry by its stem. Seunghyun watched transfixed as his lips closed around it, rosy and lush as fruits themselves. The pink little tongue made another appearance, collecting the chocolate.

“You’d let me cook for you again?” the bigger man asked, his voice awed and clumsy.

“‘Let’?” said Jiyong, swallowing; his cheeks had turned a lovely golden-pink: wine, good food, and maybe… “It’d be my _pleasure_.” Oh, Seunghyun didn’t know anymore, didn’t know what that look meant!

“Here,” he offered in a husky tone, and held out the cherry from his own slice; all he knew was that he’d pay any amount of money to watch Jiyong do that again: he’d never seen his food put to such magnificent use. The boy’s eyes widened for a moment. Then, instead of reaching for the proffered treat, he leaned across the table and took it between his teeth. The small tug at the stem between Seunghyun’s fingers sent a shiver of naked lust up his spine, and Jiyong’s gaze met his. He bit down on the fruit, a tiny explosion of dark flesh and juice quickly covered by his lips, an inch from Seunghyun’s thumb. The so-called professional felt his hand tremble and he let the rest of the cherry fall from his fingers.

“ _Mmm_ ,” whispered Jiyong again; this time hesitant, as if he felt shy or wasn’t sure what he intended by it. But Seunghyun knew what _he_ wanted it to mean, and before he could second-guess himself he was out of his chair, closing the gap between them to brush his lips against Jiyong’s in lieu of the fallen fruit. There were no thoughts now of propriety: only that he had never wanted to taste anything so badly. “Ah…!” breathed Jiyong once, softly. He smelled of cherries. Seunghyun kissed him again, making sure of his willingness, his acquiescence, parting the smaller man’s lips with the tip of his tongue to feel the heat of his mouth. Jiyong leaned into him as Seunghyun cupped his cheek in one hand; his skin was warm, and smooth as a mirror glaze.

At last Seunghyun eased back, unutterably satisfied with this first essay in ascertaining Jiyong’s desire and happy now to take things easy – Jiyong was barely an adult, and Seunghyun was wise enough to understand the harm he might do by pushing for too much. As he broke the kiss, however, Jiyong’s fingers slid over his own, cradled against his cheek, and he had to pause.

“Please don’t stop,” said Jiyong in a small, clear voice. Seunghyun blinked at him: his eyes were half closed, twin stripes of dark lashes dropped across them, and his mouth was the colour of the pomegranate Seunghyun had fed him. His uncertain attitude of earlier had evaporated into an expression of unconscious yearning. It made Seunghyun want to sigh, to give him anything he asked for; what man wouldn’t be flattered by such a look? He stood up and came closer, perching his tall frame on the edge of the table to gaze down indulgently at Jiyong’s face.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” he asked, thumb now caressing Jiyong’s lower lip. He was titillated and curious to hear the answer.

“…Yes,” said Jiyong with a good impression of confidence. “ _Now_.”

“Done anything else?” Jiyong paused, then shook his head. He looked embarrassed at the admission, in a way that couldn’t be anything but charming.

“Then are you _sure_ you want to?”

“I want to.” Jiyong gave him a smile then, of such innocence and carnality that it sent a physical ripple of delight up Seunghyun’s back; he’d never have imagined that the frightened, crying young person from earlier tonight could be capable of an expression like that. Jiyong reached up and curled one hand around the back of the bigger man’s neck; if there was a shiver of apprehension in those slender fingers his face didn’t show it. “You specialize in cherries, don’t you?” he murmured; and then, as if Seunghyun could possibly misunderstand his meaning: “I’m tired of being the only virgin in the dorm!” That jerked a laugh out of Seunghyun, and there it was again, the mixed excitement and apprehension he’d felt upon first hearing Jiyong’s age.

“I find that pretty surprising,” he admitted, thumb now smoothing across Jiyong’s lovely cheekbone. “With you as beautiful as you are.” It got him a smile of pleasant and quite justified pride, and Jiyong hooked the other hand behind his neck.

“It’s not that I haven’t _wanted_ to; I just haven’t seen a woman who excited me enough yet.” Jiyong gave a little pout. “And it’s not exactly easy to go up to a guy and tell him you want him.” Seunghyun imagined not, in the idol world. “And I never met someone as handsome as you.”

“Hmph.” He didn’t mind hearing that at all.

“Anyway,” continued Jiyong, drawing him closer, “say they the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So who am I to resist?” Seunghyun laughed at him again, then bent and kissed him. Jiyong was the one who deepened it, quite as intuitive and clever at this as he was a dunce in the kitchen; he stretched up to meet Seunghyun’s mouth as if positively _excited_.

“You forgive me now?” demanded Seunghyun at length, short of breath at his good fortune. His date – he thought he could finally say as much with confidence – was exploring the lines of his face with those small fingers as if tickled by its difference to Jiyong’s own. The fingers paused.

“…Yes, Ch-” Jiyong broke off, his hands turning tentative. “Wait, what do I call you? I can’t say ‘Chef’ now.” He drew back and gave the older man a doubtful look that Seunghyun found quite entrancing. “Unless that does something for you!”

“You can call me Tabi,” said Seunghyun easily. “That’s my nickname.” He gave Jiyong another kiss, which he returned eagerly.

“Oh, but-” Jiyong protested, clearly anxious. Seunghyun guessed that as an idol the boy was acutely aware of the social distinctions in addressing one’s elders. He smiled; Jiyong looked somewhat reassured and relinked his hands behind Seunghyun’s neck.

“It’s all relative.” Seunghyun kissed him again leisurely, enjoying the smoothness and give of his lips: pert but yielding, much like Jiyong himself. Silk as Italian meringue – delicious. “When we cook, you call me Chef. Because in the kitchen _I am your God_.” He thought he caught Jiyong snigger at that and gave a low rumble of approval. Jiyong gasped at the sound, and without further ado Seunghyun dropped to his knees, running his hands up the boy’s thighs: he wanted to _worship_ this kid. “…But in the bedroom _you_ are _mine_.”

“I…” Seunghyun looked up to see Jiyong had quit smiling; his breath was coming faster, nervous anticipation all over that adorable face.

“Can I touch you?” asked Seunghyun, nuzzling his nose against Jiyong’s stomach. He looked up to see Jiyong swallow.

“Shall…shall we go back to your place?” the smaller man suggested – a bold question for the shy tone that seemed all he could manage right now. Seunghyun beamed at him, a glow of desire and gratification at Jiyong’s trust fueling his smile. Jiyong was biting his lip again and blushing, the picture of idol purity; if he could make a face like that after asking such a question Seunghyun had no fears for the smaller man’s career: Jiyong certainly had what it took.

“That won’t take long.” Seunghyun stood up and offered his hand. “I only live upstairs.” Jiyong took it and twined their fingers together, pressing close. Seunghyun led him out of the restaurant, killing the lights, and to the elevator. The restaurant was on the ground floor of a tall and expensive building; above were other businesses, then several floors of apartments. For once the elevator was empty and Jiyong made the most of it, pushing the bigger man back against its mirrored wall with a cautious smile as if he was taking a huge liberty and kissing him again. For his part Seunghyun was very willing to be manoeuvred.

“...I was _so_ scared of you.” Jiyong met his eyes with a wondering look. “How can you be this…I dunno, sweet?”

“Business is business,” replied Seunghyun as his hands drifted down Jiyong’s back; he got no complaints when they came to rest on the sweet curve of his ass. “In private you’ll find I’m a lot more malleable.”

“Let’s see,” whispered Jiyong, and gave Seunghyun’s buttock a squeeze of its own accompanied by an adventurous grin. “So you are!” Seunghyun dropped his head to the crook of Jiyong’s neck, pressed his lips to the fragrant skin in a transport of arousal; he hoped the boy would take even more liberties, and was quite prepared at this moment to give him _anything_. Jiyong gasped and wound both arms around him. When the elevator chimed to announce Seunghyun’s floor they barely noticed, and it was only the cool air from the open doors that caught the older man’s attention and stopped them going all the way back down to the kitchen.

“Come on in.” Seunghyun kicked his shoes off. And, very earnestly: “Make yourself at home!” Jiyong padded in after him, eyes wide; he probably hadn’t imagined a chef could be _so_ well-off. Seunghyun was as proud of his home as Jiyong was of his looks, most of all with his art collection. He was pleased to see Jiyong intrigued: apparently forgetting what they’d been in the middle of, he marched up to a Mark Grotjahn in the hall and stared at it intently. Seunghyun slid both arms round him from behind and Jiyong’s hands came to close over his. “You like it?”

“It’s cool,” said Jiyong, resting his head on Seunghyun’s shoulder while he searched for the word he wanted. “Bold.” Seunghyun told him a bit about it, then led him on a tour of the apartment’s other paintings and sculptures. Jiyong was obviously too young to have formed his own tastes but he seemed to be attracted to abstracts and bright colours. There were so many things Seunghyun could teach him! When they reached the bedroom, however, he quickly remembered which skills he was hoping to display tonight. Jiyong looked up at him, his dark eyes equally aware of where they were and what he had come here for.

“You want anything?” Seunghyun asked, recalling for a second that he was the host. Jiyong pressed his lips together and took a determined breath through his nose.

“Just you.” With one short step Seunghyun closed the gap between them and took Jiyong in his arms; Jiyong’s mouth met his without hesitation, the air between them suddenly so hot Seunghyun half expected a sizzle as their lips touched and Jiyong’s tongue brushed his own. The younger man made a little noise as the kiss turned rough, uncalculated and demanding, and his hands rose to fumble with the buttons of Seunghyun’s shirt.

“You first,” requested Seunghyun ardently. “Unless you’re shy.” He always had been, himself, never sure what his partners would see in his body; he’d been big as a boy, wolfing down every recipe he made. It was only in the last couple of years that he’d been too busy with his restaurant to eat much at all – that and his publicity agent, who’d officiously hired him a personal trainer. Jiyong evidently had no such qualms: with that bright white smile of pleased vanity he tugged his shirt over his head. _Beautiful_ , thought Seunghyun, catching his breath. The younger man’s fingers went to his fly; unable to help himself Seunghyun brushed his hands away and unbuttoned his pants for him, sliding his zipper down slowly. Jiyong’s chest was moving with quick, light inhalations as Seunghyun eased his waistband over his buttocks, taking his underwear with it. Seunghyun glanced at his face: complexion flushed and brilliant, a faint shiver in his eyelashes as he blinked once and raised his gaze to the bigger man’s. They were so close Seunghyun could feel Jiyong’s breath on his skin, and could hardly miss his nervous swallow or his nod of permission.

“Go on,” murmured Jiyong. He set his hands on Seunghyun’s forearms and allowed himself to be stripped bare.

“Wow,” said Seunghyun simply, and got another smile, this one more intimate. Jiyong brushed his nose briefly against Seunghyun’s cheek and waited for him to be done looking. Seunghyun didn’t think he ever would be: Jiyong’s body was as exquisite as his face. Sure, he was a touch on the skinny side, but he’d grow out of it; and there was something about that narrow waist above the gentle flare of his hips and curve of his thighs that made for a very lovely aesthetic. Jiyong looked delicate but not weak, and when his fingers went unerringly for Seunghyun’s belt he proved himself as determined for pleasure as a more experienced man.

“Your turn!” he commanded. Seunghyun happily obeyed. Once he was standing there naked and blushing Jiyong looked him up and down, too young and confident in his own beauty to do it with any demureness. “…I don’t think a chef oughta look like _that_ ,” he said. It sounded so obviously admiring that Seunghyun quit squirming internally and drew Jiyong against him; he felt the quiver that ran the length of the boy’s body as they touched, then Jiyong’s cock hardening between them. The smaller man moaned softly into his mouth and pulled Seunghyun closer to feel his erection. Seunghyun was kissing his neck now, from the sensitive spot behind his ear down the graceful line of his throat, whispering heartfelt praise and offers to do anything for Jiyong that he might request. “ _Anything_ ,” echoed Jiyong; not shy but uncertain again, like it was too hard to choose from the smorgasbord of treats that were his for the asking. So for the second time that night Seunghyun went to his knees.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” he instructed, his deep voice a caress. “Or if you want to stop.” It was so good to be at Jiyong’s feet! He did get tired of ruling with an iron fist at work, and it suited him very well now to be a supplicant. Jiyong didn’t reply, just tangled his fingers in Seunghyun’s hair as the older man pressed slow kisses down his abdomen. Seunghyun dipped his tongue into the well of Jiyong’s navel, got a ticklish squirm and a laugh, then continued over his flat belly. Jiyong’s inner thighs were satiny, he was smooth all over except for the soft tufts of hair that – thankfully for Seunghyun’s conscience – helped prove he was indeed an adult.

“Wait…” breathed Jiyong, whose flawless flesh was now trembling with anticipation beneath Seunghyun’s hands. Seunghyun stopped and tipped his head back to peer up at him, anxious that this was too fast after all. “I gotta lean on something!” Jiyong finished with a smile. Oh. Not a problem. Seunghyun grinned and guided him backwards to the high bed so he could prop himself up, and with barely a second for the younger man to brace himself he closed his lips over Jiyong’s cock. Jiyong let out a startled but quite flattering cry, his slim hands clutching Seunghyun’s head. He was delicious; Seunghyun had known he would be, and was enjoying the textures on his tongue with the pleasure of a true connoisseur. “Slower!” begged Jiyong. Seunghyun obeyed and leisurely kissed the tip of his cock. “I wanna know…how to do it.” Seunghyun didn’t need long to reflect on the returns he might get for teaching this particular lesson.

“Okay,” he agreed. He looked up through his lashes to see Jiyong gazing down on him with an expression of mingled nerves and the exultation of Seunghyun’s being his to command. That look heated Seunghyun all over and set his own erection throbbing between his legs; he hoped very much that this boy would learn to love being in control. He did as Jiyong had asked and began at the beginning.

He thought Jiyong might come quickly; but every time the younger man was close he begged Seunghyun to stop, he wasn’t done learning. So Seunghyun edged him for a long time, and by the time Jiyong finally had his orgasm it was _spectacular_. Jiyong’s legs went from under him and he collapsed on the big bed with a cry that impressed his lover extremely; his slender body was shaking, a light sheen of sweat giving his skin a golden done-to-perfection glow.

“…And that’s how you do it,” panted Seunghyun once he’d swallowed. Jiyong let out a tremendous sigh, arms over his face. “Don’t hide,” the older man chided him as he clambered up beside him.

“I’m not!” Jiyong removed his hands to reveal bright scarlet cheeks and a dopey smile of amazement. Seunghyun touched his chest, pleased, but it seemed Jiyong wasn’t in the afterglow mood. “My turn,” the boy announced; he sat up and pushed Seunghyun bossily onto his back, then straddled his stomach.

“Be my guest.” Seunghyun slid his hands up Jiyong’s thighs in encouragement. Jiyong bent and kissed him with more eagerness than skill, and the bigger man grit his teeth as Jiyong’s buttocks brushed his erection. The kid was cool as a cucumber now he’d gotten off, while Seunghyun had never been this turned on – but the look Jiyong gave him said he wasn’t about to rush all this fun just for _his_ benefit. Then he began.

Jiyong touched him as if he’d never had the chance to explore another man’s body before, which made sense. His curious fingers skimmed across the hard planes of Seunghyun’s shoulders and chest as he tested the muscle.

“I’ll be like that one day!” he predicted optimistically.

“Good luck,” said Seunghyun, tickled and aroused. He couldn’t tell if this was foreplay or _actual_ play for Jiyong; not ‘til the younger man added his mouth to the mix, closing his teeth lightly on Seunghyun’s collar-bone before drifting down to attack both nipples with his tongue. Seunghyun slid a hand into his blonde hair in approbation, disarranging it as Jiyong’s questing lips drew out a growl.

When Jiyong’s hand touched his cock Seunghyun felt it twitch, almost desperate for more contact. The boy seemed fascinated: he stroked its length consideringly, cupped it and closed his fingers around it, wet his palm and gave it a few light pumps to hear Seunghyun groan.

“Well,” murmured Jiyong, and licked his lips with an expression of studious concentration, “here goes nothing!” And he took Seunghyun in his mouth. Seunghyun grabbed two handfuls of duvet and looked down: the sight alone of that industrious blonde head and raised ass wiggling cutely was almost enough to make him come, never mind the _noises_ Jiyong was making…

“This isn’t a porno,” Seunghyun felt obliged to say. “You don’t have to pretend…ohh, fuck…my dick tastes like ice cream or anything…!” Jiyong quit his slightly self-conscious but thoroughly adorable moans of appreciation and let Seunghyun’s cock slip from between his lips, keeping his clever hand moving.

“You don’t like it?” he enquired breathlessly. Seunghyun grinned.

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

“Then hush and let me practice.” Jiyong licked a stripe up the length of his shaft, tongue searching for the sensitive spots, and the bigger man suppressed a whimper at that youthful commanding tone. “Actually,” Jiyong went on, breaking off at a moment calculated to make his partner wriggle in frustration, “have you _got_ any ice cream?”

“…What do you think?” managed Seunghyun, thrown.

“Only I saw it online,” Jiyong continued with an ambitious glint in his eye. “Where this chick was licking it off her boyfriend’s-”

“We don’t need extras right now.” Seunghyun took a pleading grip on Jiyong’s hair. “I only need _you_.”

“Oh!” Another of those smiles. “Okay, then.” And to his joy Jiyong went back to work.

For a first go it was _phenomenal_ , thought Seunghyun through the heaven of heat and suction and Jiyong’s wet, lewd sounds of effort. The boy’s skills in this field compared to his culinary ventures were…well, there was no comparison. Jiyong didn’t quite have what it took to get him all the way there yet by himself and was probably getting tired, and Seunghyun was having a hard enough time not thrusting into his lovely mouth; so he cradled Jiyong’s head and lifted him away. The younger man took some deep breaths and pouted at him; an uncertain flicker in his eyes told Seunghyun he was maybe feeling a tiny bit insecure – after all, he must be in a vulnerable headspace right now.

“You’re amazing,” he assured him, in a tone of voice that showed he was utterly sincere. “But let up for now, huh? There’re…” He swallowed at the thought. “…So many other things I wanna do with you.”

“Yeah?” said Jiyong. Seunghyun pulled him up to lie beside him.

“Oh, _yes_.”

A few minutes later Seunghyun had his pupil flat on his stomach and was finally getting his chance to explore Jiyong’s body as he coaxed him back into arousal. He’d been mildly surprised to see a couple of tattoos, which added a touch of spice to the boy’s vanilla-idol image. Now he was enjoying the contrast between Jiyong’s pale, perfect skin and the scars and burns on his own hand as he laid it flat against the small of Jiyong’s back; it looked very large there. Jiyong hummed comfortably, the calloused fingers brushing his ribs, and Seunghyun pressed an open-mouthed kiss of pure admiration to the nape of his neck and continued his downward journey along the arch of his spine.

“ _Mmm_.” Jiyong breathed into his forearm as the bigger man’s hand surveyed his buttocks and thighs in thorough detail. Seunghyun liked an ass he could knead like springy bread dough, and Jiyong was well on the way – just a bit more proving ‘til perfection.

“If you eat a little more,” he murmured, placing a kiss at the base of Jiyong’s spine and nudging his thighs apart in preparation, “you’re gonna have a world-class ass.” He liked his men to be plumptious enough to hang on to. Jiyong moaned as the older man squeezed his buttocks indulgently.

“...You planning to feed me up, then?” he asked in his breathy little voice roughened with desire.

“You bet.” Seunghyun aimed a gentle bite at the boy’s ass, teeth just denting the skin; yes, perfect, velvety and taut as a peach. He raised Jiyong’s hips and thumbed his buttocks apart. “But first I’m gonna eat _you_.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jiyong at the first brush of his tongue. And then: “ _Ohhhh_ , Tabi...” God, it was good to hear his name pronounced with such fervour! Seunghyun carefully delved deeper and Jiyong turned rigid and shivery before gradually relaxing under his ministrations. He formed no more coherent words, only indistinct sounds of encouragement. Once he was wet and soft Seunghyun grabbed the lube from his bedside drawer and circled the tip of one finger around Jiyong’s entrance.

“Can I?” he asked, letting his chest brush against the smaller man’s back. Jiyong turned his head and one pretty eye emerged; he nodded. “Breathe out,” suggested Seunghyun, and on his trembling exhale slid his index finger in up to the first joint. He checked with his other hand: Jiyong was erect again and he himself was fit to burst; the thought of being inside that tight, inviting – goddammit, he was getting ahead of himself again. This was the first time Jiyong had ever played with himself in this way…at least, Seunghyun assumed it was. He eased his finger deeper and began to fuck him lightly; Jiyong groaned into the pillow and pushed back against him hungrily, so Seunghyun rewarded him by locating his prostate and teaching him what serious pleasure felt like.

“ _Fuck_ …!” yelped Jiyong against his arm, constricting around Seunghyun’s finger as the shock sizzling through his small frame tautened every muscle. That was a wonderful sound, Seunghyun wanted to be the one to cause that again and again! So he did, until Jiyong was whimpering and panting beneath him and Seunghyun was dropping worshipful kisses across his shoulders for being so outrageously _perfect_.

“You wanna come again?” he muttered in the pink shell of the boy’s ear.

“…Fuck me!” ground out Jiyong in the cutest little growl. Seunghyun removed his finger.

“…Are you serious?” Christ, he was hard. “Don’t think with your dick right now, Jiyong.”

“I won’t be able to think with _anything_ if you don’t do it!” Jiyong insisted. “And you said you’d do whatever I tell you! …Please,” he tried, when the older man made a doubtful noise. “I…I’d rather have someone who knows what they’re doing than some stupid teenager. And I know you won’t hurt me…” Seunghyun’s ego wasn’t immune to such an entreaty, and neither was his libido to the sight of Jiyong’s debauched and determined appearance.

“Alright; I _will_ ,” he told Jiyong in a rumble that made him quiver. “But you’ll have to be patient; and if you come while we’re getting ready that’s as far as we’re going.” Jiyong gave a whispered assent, so Seunghyun lubed up a couple more fingers and proceeded to investigate just how much Jiyong would be able to handle tonight.

Twenty minutes later Jiyong was on his back, legs spread and raised – he was absurdly bendy – and was clumsily rolling a condom onto Seunghyun with impatient concentration and unsteady hands. Just having Jiyong touch him at this point felt so good the older man was worried he wouldn’t even make it as far as penetration before Jiyong undid him completely. He nudged his cock against Jiyong’s entrance and the boy sucked in a breath, pupils dilating, before sliding both hands around Seunghyun’s ribs.

“You’re sure?” repeated Seunghyun.

“I _am_.” Seunghyun nodded, and with great care began to nudge his way inside him. Jiyong’s eyes widened immediately; the bigger man observed the changes in his face as the sensations hit him, and slowed down even further. Seunghyun knew what he was feeling, he could remember his own first time vividly: the stretch and almost-pain, the conviction that it was gonna be _impossible_ , and at the same time a kind of self-satisfaction at being so very adult. He knew how important it was to have a partner who’d take care of you, so he held Jiyong’s gaze and touched his face tenderly. Jiyong’s lips met his palm; he made a muffled sound, surprise and worry and arousal mixed, but didn’t tell him to stop. Seunghyun had eased himself halfway in before he pulled out gently and repeated the motion. He could feel Jiyong’s fingernails in his back, slim calf quivering where it was hooked over his shoulder.

“Okay, darling?” he inquired in a soft burr. A smile flashed across Jiyong’s flushed face, there and gone in a second.

“Slowly…!” the younger man entreated, his breathing ragged. “It’s so…so…”

“I know, baby.” Seunghyun kissed him, thrusting in slow motion until at last he was buried completely inside him. He heard Jiyong whine against his ear, just too sharp to be okay. When he raised his head Jiyong’s fine jaw was clenched. “…Too much, right?” Seunghyun asked, stilling himself with difficulty – from his side it felt _incredible_. Jiyong looked stubborn, but there was no getting away from those gritted teeth and damp eyes. Seunghyun didn’t care to make this kid cry even one more time, he’d done enough of that; so he simply gave Jiyong a reassuring smile and waited.

“…Maybe too much,” admitted Jiyong in a hitching voice. Seunghyun nodded and withdrew; his dick sent some pressing complaints up to his brain, but he ignored them. The smaller man sighed in what could only be relief. “You’re just…bigger than I thought,” he said, hiding his embarrassed face in Seunghyun’s bicep. “Sorry!”

“Don’t apologize!” Seunghyun told him once he’d reined in his breathing. “There’s no man who’d be angry hearing _that_.” Jiyong let out a watery chuckle. “What would you like to do?” the older man asked gently. “We can stop if you want, or go back to what we were doing before… Trust me, _everything_ feels good with you.”

“I’m not giving up!” announced Jiyong in a surer tone than his partner had expected from someone still blinking tears off his eyelashes. Seunghyun raised his eyebrows. “I wanna try again.” He touched the tip of Seunghyun’s erection. “And I _know_ you want to.”

“But-”

“Come here.” Jiyong took hold of him and manhandled him up ‘til he was sitting comfortably against the headboard. Seunghyun held out his arms and Jiyong settled in his lap; the bigger man’s lubed cock slid between his buttocks. Jiyong smiled and rocked back and forth for a minute to see Seunghyun’s eyelids flutter at the stimulation, then took hold of his erection and held it steady, kneeling poised above it. “…You like it when I take control, huh!” he said breathlessly. Seunghyun didn’t even have to nod to answer that one: his dick practically jumped in the boy’s hand, and he drew Jiyong to him and kissed him hard. Jiyong took one deep inhalation to prepare himself, then relaxed his thighs and sank down, biting his lip as he gradually worked Seunghyun’s cock into himself.

“God…” said Seunghyun fervently. Jiyong was leaning on him heavily, balancing as he began to fuck himself on the bigger man’s erection. Seunghyun took care not to move or do anything to increase the pace, but it was so hard when it felt this _good_! He held himself rigid, muscles trembling with tension, only letting his hands caress Jiyong’s back in encouragement. Jiyong still looked overwhelmed, but less distressed now he could dictate matters, and gradually they settled into a rhythm.

“…Ohh,” whispered Jiyong at length, “I could…maybe get used to this!” Seunghyun was relieved to find he was hard again; he closed his hand around Jiyong’s cock and began to stroke him, building his pleasure. He thought if he could teach the younger man to associate being fucked with feeling good he might get to appreciate bottoming more quickly than Seunghyun had himself. There was no doubt it suited Jiyong: his flexible body slick with sweat, eyes half-closed and high little voice letting out such a series of erotic sounds, Seunghyun couldn’t imagine a more spectacular sight. “Can you do that thing…?” Jiyong begged him, moving faster now. “What you did with your fingers…”

“Maybe!” Of course Jiyong wouldn’t be able to find the right angle on his own, so Seunghyun took his hips in a firm grip and moved him until he located his prostate. Jiyong squeezed his eyes shut and cried out; he seemed to be enjoying himself enough now for Seunghyun to take a more active role: he rolled his pelvis up into him and Jiyong flung both arms round his neck and pressed down against him. His scent was utterly bewitching, enough to make Seunghyun gasp and inhale to the bottom of his lungs.

“Tabi…Tabi, is this what it’s like?!” He sounded astonished. Seunghyun nodded into his neck and focused on not getting carried away, on ensuring Jiyong’s satisfaction before the boy inevitably drove him insane. Once he thought Jiyong had the hang of the angle he returned his attention to his cock, pumping it in one hand and caressing his balls with the other until Jiyong suddenly went stiff as a board against him; Seunghyun sped up, hitting his prostate again and again, and with a stifled yell of amazement Jiyong came. The bigger man wrapped him in an embrace and held him tight until his orgasm was over, and when it was done Jiyong seemed to have lost the use of his limbs. “ _Mmm_ …” was all he could manage, lying limp and spread-eagled against Seunghyun’s chest.

“…I’ve gotta keep going, baby,” Seunghyun muttered in his ear, desperate now and so close to the edge at the sight of Jiyong’s climax that he didn’t think he could hold off his own. Jiyong turned his head and kissed his jaw, mumbled a word of permission, so Seunghyun tumbled the smaller man onto his back and picked up where he’d left off. He couldn’t go slowly now, and it was probably better for the over-sensitized Jiyong to get it over with as promptly as possible. Jiyong moaned divinely beneath him and clung to him, and in another minute or two of frantic motion Seunghyun came so hard his vision turned white.

“You alright…? he asked when he could speak again, cradling Jiyong in his arms like a priceless piece of porcelain tableware that’d seen some rough usage. “Did…did I hurt you?!”

“…Well,” said Jiyong in an unsteady voice as Seunghyun carefully pulled out and tossed the condom in the direction of the bin, “I can’t say it isn’t… _oww_.”

“I’m sorry.” Seunghyun sought his lips, apologized with a series of adoring kisses.

“Is it always like that?” Jiyong kissed him back and relaxed against his side, narrow chest still heaving.

“It can be, the first time. 'Til you get used to it.”

“…But the first time’s not always that _good_.”

“It was good?” said Seunghyun, unable to repress a grin. Jiyong nodded thoughtfully, and Seunghyun dared to hope this splendid creature might deign to let him do it again, or might do it to _him_ …or more, might agree to actually _date_ him. Would he? It was obvious Jiyong liked men. But his youth, and then his career path… Dammit, ahead of himself _again_ : he didn’t even know if Jiyong wanted to spend the night! Seunghyun wavered, doubted, while Jiyong snuggled into his arms, apparently content.

“Why’d you agree to do this TV show?” inquired Jiyong lazily, while his partner fretted and silently dug his way deeper into a besotted hole. “You’re not very…personable in front of the camera.”

“Huh? Oh.” Seunghyun blinked, his fingertips brushing Jiyong’s smooth back thoughtfully, light as a fine sift of icing sugar. “I guess I wanted some press for the restaurant. I’m thinking of opening a second location. Why?”

“Can I give you some advice?” said the kid, with the air of an expert. Seunghyun gave a surprised chuckle, but nodded.

“Knock yourself out.”

“You oughta work on your persona,” Jiyong told him judiciously, tapping his chest to emphasize his words. “It’s not enough just to be hot – believe me, I know! You need something more to get famous.”

“But I don’t need to be famous,” said Seunghyun, amused. Jiyong raised his head and peered at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“But you’re a celebrity chef! That’s your _category_. You might just as well be at the top of it.”

“I don’t care for categories.” Jiyong looked as though he was thinking so hard the top of his pretty head might come off. Was it really so difficult to parse, the idea that Seunghyun, with all his looks and talent, might not be seeking fame?

“But…why wouldn’t you want to climb?” Jiyong replied eventually. “It’d help your business, too.”

“There’re too many downsides.”

“…Huh.” Young as he was, Jiyong had to recognize _that_.

“I think I’m well-known as I want to be,” continued Seunghyun slowly. “Which is to say, only slightly.” Jiyong couldn’t help looking amazed again. “And I’ll tell you why: right now I can date any man I like and no-one notices or gives a shit. Who I fuck is not a cause for moral panic, and that’s the way I wanna keep it.” The older man had very strong feelings about privacy, and certainly wouldn’t care to be dictated to by Korean society at large about sexual acceptability. Jiyong’s expression turned complicated.

“ _I_ wanna be famous!” the boy announced, which was just as well: Seunghyun was certain he had what it took, and besides, he was probably contracted up to his eyebrows by this point. He nodded mildly, then saw Jiyong purse his lips in that adorable expression of mental effort he was quickly growing fond of. Jiyong caught his hand. “…But I want love too!” He seemed quite distressed, and Seunghyun would bet money the younger man had never _really_ considered the freedoms he was giving up in becoming an idol. At the same time… Oh, Seunghyun had enjoyed hearing that word from Jiyong’s lips more than was good for him. With his free hand he reached up and cupped Jiyong’s cheek, fervently wishing this might mean Jiyong would consent to see him again.

“There are ways, I’m sure,” he told him, hoping it was true. “You just have to take more care than normal people.” Jiyong leaned into his hand. “If anyone can find love,” Seunghyun assured him, smitten, “it’s you.” Jiyong turned his head at that and kissed Seunghyun’s scarred fingers; when he looked back his eyes were shining.

“So…where do we start?” he asked in that sweet voice. Seunghyun experienced a shiver of pleasure, apprehension, hope. He pulled Jiyong over to lie against his chest and stroked his fair hair; in all his life he couldn’t remember feeling this optimistic before.

“We start with breakfast,” he said; he couldn’t wait to see Jiyong eat again. “I’ll teach you. And I’ll be _nice_.” Jiyong smiled, and closed his eyes.

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/hPi0Hzu.png)

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love Seunghyun's optimism that Ji will at some point develop an ass ^^;
> 
> Well, there you have it! Not exactly a complex plot this time, but if you enjoyed it please drop me a line and let me know :)  
> (Also, I know this hairstyle doesn't belong to 19-year-old Jiyong, but to me this was his ultimate tiny-and-cute period XD)
> 
> More to come next week!


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